Burn Out Bright
by Brigadier-Erin-Lightning
Summary: A One-Shot fic; Moriarty attempts to outwit Holmes, but when he makes John Watson the center of his most horrifying scheme, Sherlock sacrifices everything to save the man he loves.


**Burn Out Bright**

**A Snapshot by Erin R. Lightning**

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><p><em>This is just a short snapshot, written in about ten minutes, unedited and written (oddly for me) in present tense. It's terribly sad - you've been forewarned, but <em>_I had this dream last night and thought it made a horribly fitting story. What is recorded word for word and image for image below is the entirety of said dream. Hope you enjoy!_

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><p>He has taken his eyes off John for a second and now can find him nowhere.<br>By the waterside, he hears a cry.  
>The night is dark. The stars are cloud-struck, they don't shine on the surface of the murky black depths that wave in the cool breeze.<br>John is half-soaked in the surf. The other half, Sherlock observes, is blood.  
>A silver-handled knife sticks out of his side.<br>Sherlock is beside him, hands grasping.  
>The killer is bold: the consulting detective's eyes catch on the end of the knife, marked with the initials JM.<br>A shock of fear rushes through him.  
>Words, hurried, pleading: "John, John, you're not going to leave me, you'll be all right, tell me you'll be all right. Hold on."<br>Watson is still coherent. He urges Sherlock, who pulls the knife and, taking his coat and tearing off a sleeve, binds the wound as tight as he can and, with shaking hands, dials the number into his phone.  
>He'll kill Moriarty if he returns just now, but he feels he won't - he gets his sick pleasures from watching from afar.<p>

Flashing lights.  
>They won't let him into the ambulance, not unless he's a spouse or family member. He takes offense.<br>"I'm a spouse," he says, defiant, pushes past them without giving them time to react.  
>The whole ride he wants to hold John, wants to talk to him.<br>But he lets the first responders do their work.

At the hospital, John is taken away.  
>Lestrade comes up. Idle chatter, none of which Sherlock hears.<br>He paces.  
>Hospitals make him nervous. He worries.<br>Then something important, something not quite right, though he can't remember the words.  
>Sherlock knows it's not Lestrade.<br>Curses himself - why would the detective be here anyway? He knows Lestrade has left for vacation.  
>Sherlock waits for an opportunity. A nurse finally comes to bid him upstairs.<br>He excuses himself and runs to Watson's room.  
>Watson is asleep. It breaks him, but he shakes his friend awake.<br>"You can't stay here. He's coming."  
>A look of pained fear in Watson's eye. "I know."<br>Sherlock looks to the side table. The IV drip. The drugs.  
>"I can't take any medicine." He might have already gotten to it.<br>John doesn't need to say anything. Sherlock knows he understands. He always has.  
>It kills the consulting detective, but he tugs the needles out of his friend and stops up the wounds with gauze and surgical tape.<br>Watson's eyes close. He seems to drift away. Sherlock is frantic. He whispers, "Stay with me, John."  
>The eyes open again, just barely. He must know the severity of the situation.<br>His eyes lock on Holmes' and, in a broken voice, he whispers, "Always. Sherlock, I..."  
>He is on the verge of saying something more, but his fatigue has come over him.<br>Sherlock bites his lip. Suppresses a response. Lifts Watson gingerly into his arms. Walks briskly for the door, only to be accosted by Not-Lestrade.  
>"What do you think you're doing?" But the tone means he already knows.<br>"It's not safe here - HE is watching. Get the car." Sherlock follows along. He has a plan.  
>Not-Lestrade does as he is told. When all three are alone in the car, he asks, "221 B?"<br>Sherlock only nods. Watson has fallen asleep again.  
>With any luck he won't wake until its over.<br>Sherlock opens his phone and texts, the device hidden under John's weight.  
>He can only hope he remembers where all of the letters are - he's typing blind.<br>And running out of time.

As Sherlock pushes through the door, Mrs. Hudson catches him.  
>Not-Lestrade is still parking the car.<br>Sherlock sends her away, his hand shyly slipping his phone into her pocket.  
>The look she gives him just before she goes in says she gets his message.<br>Not-Lestrade comes through the door just after she's gone.  
>Sherlock beckons him upstairs and, laying John on the couch, asks to speak to Not-Lestrade in the kitchen.<br>Not-Lestrade complies. In the kitchen, he draws his gun.  
>Sherlock expects it, but looks into those hard eyes. "If you're here to kill me, do it."<br>"Oh, Sherlock you're too simple! Why would I do that? I told you, I will burn the heart out of you."  
>"I intend nothing less. In fact...I think I will shoot the good doctor while you watch." A smile. Cruel, merciless, like the smile of the devil himself.<br>There is nothing to deduce - he fully intends to do it. Sherlock is at a loss.  
>"I will kill you," Sherlock growls. "If you touch John, then I will kill you with my bare hands."<br>"The great Sherlock Holmes, always so brilliant...except where the good doctor is concerned, hm?" Moriarty has pinpointed his weakness. He had from the start.  
>"Come now, let's play a game..." Moriarty says, pushes the barrel against Sherlock's chest, backing him into the living room.<br>Sherlock closes his eyes.

"Where is he?" snaps Moriarty. Rage fills his features.  
>The couch is empty. The doctor is nowhere to be seen.<br>Sherlock smiles. "Somewhere you'll never find him."  
>"I will turn this place upside down."<br>"That won't be necessary - he's gone." Sherlock speaks the truth. Moriarty knows it.  
>Anger. In his rashness, the criminal mastermind pulls the trigger.<br>Shock. He pulls it again. And again. And again.  
>Sherlock doesn't feel the wounds. He goes numb. Drops to his knees, then falls.<br>Moriarty, realizing what he's done, curses. Kicks Sherlock. Grabs him by his hair. Slams him against the wall, then meets his gaze. Understands. "You planned this!"  
>Sherlock smiles. He has no words.<br>Moriarty thrusts him back against the ground. "No, no, I've still won. I still outwitted you."  
>Sherlock cannot answer. Moriarty is talking to a man as good as dead.<br>One more good, hard kick, and Moriarty storms out of the room. He doesn't care about Watson anymore. The game is no longer exciting.  
>Blood pools on the carpet. Sherlock grabs the couch leg and forces himself to his knees.<br>He looks out the window, sees the car pull away.  
>He waits. And waits, trying to keep his vision from swimming.<br>Then he drags himself to the stairs. The descent racks his body and is more than he can bear. He blocks out the majority of it from his mind.  
>Finally he is at Hudson's door.<br>He raps on it three times. It opens. Darkness.

When he awakes, Sherlock is lying in a bed next to Watson.  
>He feels his face color at the warmth of the Doctor's body pressed against his.<br>Mrs. Hudson stands nearby.  
>"I did just as you wrote, Sherlock, though I have to say I've never used one of these contraptions before - text messaging is it?"<br>Sherlock is amused. His voice is but a whisper. "You did very well."  
>"But are you sure I cannot call a doctor? You're as white as death."<br>Sherlock's smile does not fade. "I gave you my instructions, didn't I?"  
>Mrs. Hudson turns her face away so he won't see the bout of tears hiding there.<br>She knows what he intends and nods her head.  
>Sherlock murmurs his last request: "Go now. Take care of him. And Mrs. Hudson…"<br>"Yes?"  
>"For the love of everything dear, don't let him see the body." The. He talks about himself impartially, not wanting to think of what comes next.<br>The landlady loses it. She chokes on a sob and leaves the room. He can hear her sadness even then.  
>When she is gone, he thinks only of John. He wraps his arms around the man, sleeping so peacefully.<br>He nuzzles his neck, breathes in the scent of his cologne and of the night's adventure.  
>When he thinks of the times they will never have, a tear runs down the sociopath's cheek.<br>Sherlock feels faint. The blood has soaked through the bandages Mrs. Hudson has put on him.  
>He closes his eyes, but as he does, he whispers his very last words: "I love you, John Watson."<br>And then he sleeps.

The next morning, the Doctor wakes.  
>As promised, he wakes alone.<br>But he knows.  
>He asks Mrs. Hudson and she shows him Sherlock's phone.<br>Reads the final text message: "Come up to my room immediately. Take Watson and hide him in your bedchambers. I will come for him. Be absolutely silent. Wait for my knock, three times. Do not be alarmed. Only bring me to him. Then leave me, no matter what may happen. Protect the doctor with your life - he has mostly certainly meant everything to mine." And for the first time, the text is signed: Sherlock Holmes.  
>Watson cannot help but think to himself of the man, as brilliant going out as he ever was within.<p>

**_The End_**


End file.
